Philip and Amyntor
by Tribal Shimmy
Summary: This is a prequel to my story 'Choices' - which I plan to post here too! It contains male on male sex so if this offends please do not read it. The story is in three chapters so you can read the whole tale at your leisure.
1. Chapter 1

Amyntor looked with disinterest at the boy, who sat playing with a terracotta toy in the middle of the room.

He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms against his chest, sighing as he grew bored of waiting for Philip, who was bidding farewell to his children in the next room. If he had a choice, he would have waited with the others, outside the palace, but it had become Philip's habit to be concerned for him and so he did as he was bid and waited here.

The child got to his feet and looked over at him, before looking around the room, as if to check they were still alone. He held up the toy, studying it, then, almost at a run, he came to Amyntor.

"Play rabbit," he said, holding up the toy, his small fingers just able to reach around it.

Amyntor glanced down, the terracotta was in the form of a rabbit. He looked back up and out towards the window, ignoring the hand on his leg, which then pulled at his chiton.

The door to the adjoining room opened, and Philip strode out, with his son, Alexander, carried on his hip. Every inch the proud father, he turned to watch the nurse, Lanike, follow with the newborn Cleopatra, before looking towards Amyntor.

"Your son wants lifting up," Philip commented.

Looking down, Amyntor was greeted by eyes as blue as his own, he stepped away, breaking free, aware that the child fell but feeling nothing by it.

"Amyntor!" chided Lanike, handing Cleopatra to another while coming forward to lift the boy in to her arms, who promptly called her mother and smiled upon her. "How long will you blame the child for his mother's death? He came close to death himself, and survived. To what? A father who chooses to disown him?"

Amyntor looked, with all the disdain that he could muster, at the boy. "Give him to a childless couple, they'll be glad of him, I'm sure."

"He's staying here," Philip said, his voice determined. "He'll be brought up here, if you will not have him." Philip exhaled loudly, shaking his head at Amyntor. "What will it take? He's a part of Tethys, all you have of her now."

Amyntor looked at the boy, not even wanting to acknowledge that he was his son. Though, for a short while he had, when they came to him on campaign, with news that Tethys had given birth to a boy. He had got drunk that night, planned for the future, telling everyone he had a son, not able to wait until battle was done, when he could return and embrace the wife he loved so much and hold his newborn child in his arms.

Then, the day the messenger came with news of Alexander's birth, while everyone celebrated in some ironic parody, the messenger had found him out and told him of Tethys' death. Sweet Tethys, so beautiful and kind, all he had ever wanted, taken from him, she had never recovered from the birth. He was told the boy was ill but that did not matter to him, the child's birth had caused his mother's death.

Wrapped in grief he had returned to Pella, Tethys' pyre had long since been lit and all that remained were ashes and the boy, who Lanike had named after the god, Hephaestus, because the child had clung to life, as if he were forged of the strongest metal. He remembered that was the reason. Lanike thought he might choose another name but it did not matter, he wanted nothing to do with him.

"It's been two years since Tethys' death," Amyntor replied, looking at Philip. "How many times must you order me here before you realise I do not want him? We have a rebellion to deal with, a battle to fight, can we not just go to it?"

"I worry for you, Amyntor," Philip said, but he made his way out of the room, still carrying Alexander, as he went to join his army.

Lanike signalled for Cleopatra to be returned to the nursery, and would have left Amyntor's son there too but Alexander struggled in his father's arms, looking for his playmate, so to avoid any tantrums, she followed close to Philip with the boy held in her arms.

A cheer went up as Philip appeared before his army, holding up Alexander for them all to see, laughing proudly, swinging the child around, delighted in his son's laughter.

Amyntor leaned over to whisper in Lanike's ear. "Hyperenor and Diomede have no child, I hear that Diomede goes daily to the temple to pray for a son. Grant her wish, Lanike, you have my blessing."

"Hephaistion should know his father," Lanike snapped, just as the boy in her arms reached for Philip.

"Papa," Hephaistion called out, laughing at the man who swung his friend so high, wanting to be lifted high too.

Amyntor smiled at Lanike. "Hyperenor will do just as well." He walked away, to where his page, Periphas was waiting with his horse, looking around, acknowledging his men.

Philip handed Alexander to Lanike, waiting for her to let Hephaistion down to the ground, before going to his own horse and with a final cry to the gods, to bring them victory, he led the way.

As well as Periphas, who appeared infatuated with him, Amyntor was joined by Cleitus who, at fifteen years of age, seemed to think himself a veteran of battle, when in truth this would be only his second campaign.

Just growing his jet black beard, Amyntor often caught Cleitus studying his own, as he did with the other men, as if judging whether it was long enough or thick enough to make him seem older than his years. So keen to prove himself, Cleitus reminded Amyntor of himself at that age and cringed a little when he realised that, at twenty-eight, they had thirteen years between them.

Looking for Philip, he took comfort that the king. was now thirty, the fact made Amyntor not feel so old.

"Should you not be riding with your troop?" Periphas asked Cleitus.

"He's alright where he is," Amyntor said, winking at the new arrival.

"Philip won't object," Cleitus said. "Why? Would you rather ride with Amyntor alone?"

Periphas flushed, went to speak and no words came. Too embarrassed to remain he pulled his horse back and rode of to the other pages.

Cleitus laughed . "Don't you get tired of him?"

Amyntor looked over at Periphas, catching his eye before the young boy looked away again. "He's good at his job."

"Because he adores you," replied Cleitus. "He slavers over your long chestnut hair, your eyes, your lips, your thighs," he informed him, doing an impression of the lovesick boy as he spoke. You should hear him talking to the others, as if you were some god. He longs for you to bed him and all he can do to relieve his frustration is to polish your armour and be at your beck and call."

"Then I shall have to tell him that I have no interest," Amyntor said.

There was a silence between them for a while before Cleitus spoke again. "Have you not lain with anyone since?"

Amyntor shook his head. "No woman could compare."

Again, Cleitus hesitated. "But perhaps in time."

Laughing bitterly, Amyntor looked at Cleitus. "That's what they all say, but two years on it's still the same. I only knew Tethys for two years and the time, with her, seemed to fly and the time, without her, seems endless to me."

Cleitus nodded, as if at fifteen he was wiser than anyone. "Who needs women anyway?" he said. "There is still the glory of battle and the comradeship of good friends."

"Who said that? Parmenion? Antipater? Philip? Whose words are you quoting, Cleitus? Have some of mine. That battle loses its pleasure when it takes you far from home and from the ones you love, that good friends can find no words of comfort when you need them and a loving touch and a gentle word can be everything, so when you find that person to love, stay with them, no matter what the cost."

"I..." Cleitus could find no words now.

"Think, before you speak, Cleitus. Remember that," Amyntor said, pushing his horse forward, cantering ahead to ride alone.

Philip turned in time to see Amyntor riding away from Cleitus, he sighed and shook his head, wondering what it would take to break his friend's melancholy, fearing for him, as he did so often now, thinking that Amyntor might die in battle, because he wished to die.

He knew himself as a man who could not be faithful, it was a defence he used like he might use a stockade or a wall of sarrisas held by the phalanx, he had been taught that to love was weak by both his father and by life itself. Olympias was such an example, he had been a fool for her, made weak by what he thought was love, for the first time ever he had lowered his defences.

Knowing now he should have just taken his pleasure and moved on, denied any offspring by their coupling, he had married the girl and only then realised she was a she-wolf, a daughter of Medusa, a scheming, manipulative bitch who he was bound to, even though he knew he would not lie with her any more.

He spat on the ground as he thought of the trouble he had brought upon himself, wishing that Amyntor had been with him at Samothrace, he trusted his opinion as he trusted Parmenion's decisiveness on the battlefield.

"One battle should see an end of it," Parmenion said.

Philip had not been aware of his general approaching, his voice shook him from his thoughts, he grunted in reply. "Still they draw us out of Pella, and while the Thracians rebel then others think that they might do the same?"

Parmenion frowned. "Are you getting tired of it all?"

"Never," laughed Philip, "but you know my plans, Parmenion. These are mere skirmishes in the grand plan I have of things. I want to put Macedon on the map, have an army the rest of Greece envies...fears."

"With envy you make enemies," cautioned Parmenion.

Resting his hand on his thigh, Philip leaned over to Parmenion as if he were sharing a secret. "Everyone is our enemy, but win a battle and they suddenly want to be your friend."

Parmenion laughed, then looked over to Amyntor. "I'm worried for him," he said, nodding in the direction of the man he talked about. "Perhaps we should put someone else with him, to watch him, take over if..."

"If he should die in battle?" Philip shook his head. "His men won't let him, and even if he fell they are well-trained enough, by him, to see the job done."

"And what about you?" Parmenion asked, lowering his voice.

"If I should die then I know I have you to lead the way," Philip replied, then gave a wry smile because he knew what Parmenion spoke of. "I don't want to lose him." He considered for a while. "Have someone there, but don't make it too obvious."

Philip looked back to Amyntor. There was a time, he remembered, when they had meant more to each other. They never spoke of it now, but no-one had come closer to his heart. He had done his duty, as a king he needed no distractions. His defences had gone up and he had cast Amyntor aside.

That first night the army camped on the outskirts of a small village, whose elders were only too happy to provide houses to accommodate the king and his companions.

Having seen his men settled, checked the horses and set guards, Amyntor came to the room he had been allocated, to find Periphas fussing around, giving orders to two other pages younger than himself.

'Like a wife', Amyntor thought, but Tethys had never shouted orders or made such a commotion in organising their home. It was a peaceful, happy home he had, with Tethys always there to pour him wine, to listen, to share his deepest secrets and to laugh and love with him.

He felt a cold hand grip his heart as he remembered going back there, after she had died. That was a mistake. She had created a warm oasis in the desert of his life but the marble walls and stone floors were just an empty thing without her there. Her voice, her songs, seemed to echo through the house, her scent still on her gowns, then there were her combs, her rings, necklaces, bracelets, which had only served to enhance her beauty in life. They had such hopes, such love and he had said farewell, kissed her, never thinking that it would be for the last time, not knowing he would never see her face again.

Periphas had done his best but it really did not matter any more.

"Parmenion took the biggest room, after the king...next to the king's," Periphas informed him, "then he took another, better room than this, for Nicanor saying it was close to his own..."

"Just a father doing the best for his son," Amyntor replied, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he remembered Tethys wishing for a boy.

Periphas frowned as if that was not the answer he wished to hear. "I have some water being heated for you, so you can wash, before supper."

Amyntor thanked the boy, then dismissed him, before sitting on the bed, not feeling the straw mattress give so much. He looked about, noting the rough stone walls, the broken chair in one corner, the small table with a lamp upon it, already burning as the one window was high up and small, not casting much of the evening light in to the room.

Another page came with the water and a fresh chiton, placing the bowl upon the broken chair, while Periphas hovered in the doorway, mumbling something to the other boy, as he passed by, before leaving and closing the creaking wooden door behind him.

Having washed and then put on the clean clothes, Amyntor made his way down to the largest room, where Philip sat talking with Nicanor and Cleitus about his time at Thebes, Parmenion soon joined them along with other senior ranking officers and a basic supper was served, provided by the villagers, of bread and cheese with wine to wash it down with.

Three of the village elders were with them, seeming flattered by the king's visit but concerned that their hospitality might be lacking in what the king was used to, while talk turned, as it always did, to battle, they argued amongst themselves that they should have killed a calf.

Amyntor moved to the back of the hall, drinking down his wine and having more brought when he was done. He no longer felt a part of it, not like he had, not like before.

Philip ended the supper earlier than he usually would, thanking his hosts and ordering everyone to their beds.

Making his way back to his room, a little unsteadily, Amyntor sat on the bed and struggled to kick off his boots, wondering if it would be worth the effort to undress. He got one boot off, then reached down to tug off the other, throwing it against the wall.

There was a gentle knock upon the door and, for a moment, he thought it would be Periphas come to fuss over him once more, but as he looked up he saw Philip, studying him, the same concern on his face as he always wore for him these days.

"Perhaps it was a mistake to have you come," Philip said.

Amyntor stood up. "Because you think I seek death on the battlefield?"

Philip nodded.

"I have a duty to my men," Amyntor said sadly, "I won't look for death but if it found me then I would welcome it."

"What can I do?" Philip asked. "What should I do?"

"Bring Tethys back."

Philip shook his head. "I pray that you find love again, Amyntor."

"It's not that easy to find, though you don't seem to have any difficulty, Philip. Or is that because you are a king?"

"And before I was, I found love then, from you," Philip said, softly.

Amyntor laughed. "You pray that I find love, when love comes in many guises. Tethys' love was true, yours was not."

Philip reached up to caress the side of Amyntor's face. "I loved you, as much as I could, we always knew one day...that we could not go on."

Amyntor stared in to Philip's eyes, trying to see the truth in them, he saw pain and loss, knowing them so well himself, but he also saw hope, and as he did he realised that Philip was reaching for him, pulling him close in to an embrace, his lips finding his own.

He struggled against it, not wanting it, but Philip would not release him, Philip's tongue invaded his mouth and it was touch, something familiar, a lifeline to cling to and he found himself kissing back, though it had been years since he had known this man and the notion that this man was now his king kept surfacing in his mind.

It was when Philip reached up to unclip his chiton that his mind seemed to clear, the kisses, the embraces, he could take comfort from them but he wanted nothing more. Philip pulled the cloth down, caressed his chest, then moved his hand down to clasp his thigh.

Amyntor pushed back, breaking the embrace but Philip only came back holding him, turning him, pushing him against the wall.

Putting his hands up, Amyntor felt the rough stone wall, Philip biting at his neck, he wanted to fight back, to stop it but his body betrayed him, craving the contact, wanting the release.

Bracing his arms, offering himself, Amyntor felt Philip's turgid penis push between his thighs, felt a hand on his hip and a hand reaching for him, and he thrust forward, crying out and throwing his head back as he was held. It had been too long, he felt like a starving man put before a banquet, he moved against Philip, so grateful for the touch.

Philip's tastes had changed over the years, he wanted more than to nestle between his thighs. Amyntor felt him withdraw and then a finger pushing at his centre, then another, stretching him, preparing him. Soon Philip withdrew his fingers only to replace them with his firm erection, whispering his desire as he gently entered him and began to thrust.

Amyntor reached back, wanting Philip to go deeper, to touch his soul if he could. There was some pain but that felt good, that the comfort should not come without some cost. Pushed against the wall by Philip's desire he rested his head on the stone, turning it in the direction of the door, to see Periphas, clutching a linen cloth, watching the scene before him, momentarily, before disappearing from sight.

Too far gone to care, Amyntor moved in to Philip's firm grasp, feeling waves of pleasure surge through him, arching his back and crying out as he found his release, just coming down from it as Philip thrust hard, embracing him as he shuddered to a close, promising his affection in a litany of praise as he always had before.

Philip struggled for breath, his heart beating so fast, and for a moment he was back at Pella, in the stables where he had first taken Amyntor. The scent of the man, the touch of him, he had not forgotten, although they had not beards then and a few less scars upon their bodies.

He ran his hand along Amyntor's shoulders wondering how he ever had the strength to let him go, he kissed his neck and thanked him, then withdrew, looking over at the bed, thinking how good it would be to just lie with this man, to just be.

"I did not plan this when I came here," he said.

Amyntor nodded, swallowed, then looked back to him. "It had to be with someone I suppose, the first time, since Tethys."

Philip twisted the long chestnut hair around his hand, like he had in the past, it still felt soft, like the finest silk. "I missed you, Amyntor," he whispered, stroking his hand along his companion's arm, feeling the muscles flex within.

"I'm a little too old to be your eromenos, Philip."

"A king can make his own rules." Philip nipped Amyntor's shoulder, thinking it would be good to rekindle what had been lost.

Amyntor turned round to look on him, reached up to caress his face, Philip leaned in to the touch. "Those days are gone," Amyntor whispered, quickly embracing him before pulling back, stepping away.

Philip adjusted his clothing then watched as Amyntor moved across the small room, before turning back to him.

"Why not take it for what it is then?" Philip suggested. "Why not use each other to find some comfort, to relieve the stress of life." He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, looking over to the bed, once more, hoping to receive an invitation to stay. None came.

Amyntor was silent, studying him, no doubt thinking of his life with Tethys in comparison with what he was being offered now. Philip chewed the inside of his mouth knowing he could never offer such devotion, that he had his own selfish reasons for wanting Amyntor within his reach. Not just the sex drew him to Amyntor, it never was just about that, he desired the quiet friendship, the understanding looks from those blue eyes and just to be with him, if he were honest with himself, he had never seen a man more beautiful than Amyntor. So, they weren't boys anymore, but Amyntor held more appeal than any of them.

Deciding it was better to retreat than to attack again, Philip went to the door, looking back to wish Amyntor health, before walking out of the room. He closed the door behind him, tried to understand what he felt inside, he shook his head, trying to calm the turmoil deep inside, then made his way to his bed wishing things had never changed, longing for the past.

Amyntor woke at dawn, turning in the bed to look at the sunlight streaming in through the small window. He sighed and brought his right arm behind him, to prop his arm upon it.

Philip.

He tried to comprehend what he felt, running through the previous day's events, the things that they had said, realising he half regretted what had occurred but that the other half of him longed to be touched that way again, he felt aroused, only things were complicated. Unlike before, Philip was now the king, they were older, he was too old to be giving himself to another man, no matter who he was, and he had known devotion, the touch of a woman was not something that he wanted to give up. When he was ready he wanted to be with a woman once more.

He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back off his face. It was all too complicated, perhaps if he had the chance to start again, somewhere new, like Athens. It was an idea he had been thinking about for some time, that he needed to get away from all he knew, and he lay and considered how he would make his living in a place like that.

His thoughts were interrupted by Periphas, who came sullenly in to the room, wishing him joy as he dropped a fresh bowl of water on the chair, causing water to splash over its sides.

Amyntor sat up. "I can guess what has caused this dark mood," he said.

Periphas bent down to pick up the discarded chiton from the floor, folding it before putting it on the bed, then fetching the boots, putting them together by the wall.

"Don't be a child, Periphas," Amyntor warned.

"I'm not," Periphas snapped back, "but you allowed the king..."

"To touch me?" Amyntor got up from the bed, walking over to the bowl, wetting a cloth and beginning to wash himself. "It has nothing to do with you," he said, rubbing the cloth between his legs, bringing it round to clean his buttocks. "Are the men ready?"

"When you are," Periphas replied, quietly. He lifted up the chiton and handed it to Amyntor, his eyes filled with tears. "I would have offered myself, to you, that way," he said.

"You would have spent a long while waiting for me to seduce you," Amyntor replied, without thinking, looking over just in time to see the boy's face, to see the pain he had caused. He reached for the chiton. "I suppose I needed to be seduced."

Periphas forced a smile. "Philip takes anyone he pleases."

"I wanted it too," Amyntor replied, softly, before putting on the chiton, finding his belt on the floor and picking it up then fastening it. "I'll need my armour but I'll put it on after breakfast."

He sat on the bed and pulled on his boots, but as he stood Periphas grabbed hold of his wrist to stop him leaving.

"If I came to you tonight, if I was in your bed?" he asked.

Amyntor shook his head. "Then you would find yourself in the phalanx the next morning, and disappointed for your efforts."

He knew the boy was crying as he left, but he told himself it was no matter and headed down for breakfast.


	2. Chapter 2

Making good progress through the day they gained more ground than they thought they would, making camp by early evening, although this time there were no villages to call on for hospitality.

Philip had called his officers together, scouts had returned bringing news that the Thracians were camped a days ride away. He was not happy with the news, not that he feared them, but that they had the nerve to bring the fight to Macedon's borders, he had hoped that they would fear him enough by now to not seek any confrontation.

He sat back, letting Parmenion talk, looking at the men before him, his gaze settling on Amyntor who was feigning interest in what Parmenion had to say. Philip hid a smile behind his hand as he saw Amyntor glance in his direction, and he wondered if the need, the desire, invaded his thoughts as they did his own.

Looking away, to ease his arousal, he turned his eyes towards the entrance to the tent where Cleitus had crept in to listen, standing there, rubbing at his beard, nodding his head in agreement with manoeuvres he was too inexperienced to fully comprehend. If he knew it all then he would know the risks, the loss of life, when to proceed when to wait. Something that should be instinctive in a king, or else he would not be a king at all, he would lose the trust of those who followed and at best survive with nothing, at worst be killed by those that he had trusted.

Still, Cleitus was a fine looking lad, if a little too full of himself. He would learn, they all did in the end.

Philip looked back to Amyntor and Cleitus paled in to insignificance, but Amyntor was probably right, it was too late for them.

As he called the meeting to a halt, pages rushed to clear the rough wood table and bring food and well-diluted wine. The battle would be the day after next and everyone was in enough high spirits not to have strong wine to fuel them. There would be an early start and one by one as the evening became night his men all left and Philip found himself alone.

Finishing his wine while studying a map before him, he was half aware of the pages clearing the table, bringing him a bowl of water and a jug, turning out a couple of the lamps, folding clothes in to a chest, before bowing towards him and wishing him health.

Standing up and stretching, Philip undressed and kicked off his boots, going to the bowl of water and washing himself, wiping his body dry and extinguishing every lamp but one as he made his way to his bed.

He lay down, with his arm over his eyes, moving to get comfortable, scratching at his belly and yawning.

"Philip."

Moving his arm, he looked to see Amyntor before him and he propped himself up on to his elbows, saying nothing, waiting to hear what he wanted to hear.

No words were spoken, but Amyntor undressed before him, his arousal evident, once naked he stood before him and Philip pulled back the blanket in invitation, smiling at his victory as he knew he had awakened the passion in his friend. His friend, he wondered if he could, ever again, call him his lover.

"I just need to be touched," Amyntor whispered, seeking a kiss, running his hand along Philip's body.

Philip opened his mouth, feeling himself claimed, his own passions stirring as he held Amyntor tight to him. "I need you," he heard himself murmur, as the kiss was broken, his hands running along Amyntor's back, up and then down, grasping the firm buttocks. He let his fingers explore and found oil had been spread there already, in preparation of where their desire would lead.

He let his right hand move round to grasp Amyntor's erection, hearing his friend gasp with pleasure, lifting himself up to allow him access, thrusting in to the firm grip. "You always did like that," Philip laughed.

Amyntor grinned at him. "I remember what you liked." He leaned forward and flicked his tongue over Philip's right nipple, looking up and laughing as Philip shuddered uncontrollably. "And this," he said, moving to nibble Philip's neck, moving up towards his ear."

Philip revelled in the pleasure only moving back because he wanted to claim a kiss, to express his feelings in a way that words could not express. He wanted Amyntor in every way, wanted him beside him every day, wanted to give in to his feelings and admit he loved the man. Too soon yet, Amyntor's feelings still too raw, it needed time.

They writhed against each other, kissed each others bodies, embraced, explored until finally Amyntor lay on his back and spread his legs in invitation to his king. As Philip moved forward he rested the calves of his legs on Philip's shoulders and reached his arms up, around his shoulders, welcoming him in, clinging to him as he entered, arching his back as they began to move together.

In that moment of passion, it occurred to Philip that Amyntor might miss a woman's touch, that he might not always want to be submissive, that he was probably only here, beneath him because he craved the physical. What if he did not feel the same? He swallowed these doubts and worries back , forcing himself to concentrate on the moment, to enjoy what he had for now.

He had to be alone tomorrow, on the eve of battle, it was his way, but when battle was done then let them see.

It felt so good, so right, he had been a fool to let this go. He thrust forward feeling satisfied to hear Amyntor reach his completion, and with a final move he felt himself fall over the edge and rush to join him.

Amyntor held on to Philip, hearing him breathe hard, feeling each breath upon his neck. Sweat sealed them together, that and the fact that Philip's penis was still sheathed within his body.

He ran his hand along Philip's waist, kissed the broad shoulder before him and though he felt nothing like he had with Tethys, ashamed to have had to offer himself like a cheap whore in a murky brothel, he felt something, he felt as if a part of him was coming to life again.

All day he had memories of Philip's seduction creep in to his mind, he could not stop himself from looking at the king, feeling a little like Periphas in his desire. Anyone might do, he could find his infatuated page and pull him to his bed, the boy would be eager to please, suppliant in his grasp, obedient to his commands but then would talk of love and perhaps, if he rutted him well enough, even speak of adoration and become more of a shadow than he was now.

With Philip he was free from that. Philip would take what he wanted and cast people aside, no promises, no talk of love. With Philip he could gain the physical release his body craved once more, but come the morning the king's roving eyes would look around for someone new, releasing him from any promises made in the heat of passion.

Philip moved, rolling on to his side, Amyntor had to move to accommodate the king in his own bed.

"Stay," Philip murmured, sleep rushing up to claim him.

"I should go," Amyntor replied, but made no effort to move, there was a comfort in lying so close.

"After the battle," Philip whispered, nestling his head in to the pillow.

"I know." Amyntor smiled. After the battle Philip would move on, return to Pella and bed someone like Cleitus, he was already looking at him, he had seen.

The morning of the battle came soon enough, and as the sun rose in the sky it became clear that they had the advantage in position, numbers and their leader.

The Thracians would learn a lesson, one to drive them back from the border and make them think, for a very long time, about rebelling again.

Philip had been joined by Parmenion, they breakfasted together while discussing strategy, the cavalry waiting for the phalanx, cutting through, causing panic and disruption. It had worked before and it would work again.

Other officers arrived, dressed in armour, showing no sign of nerves, but as yet no sign of Amyntor. Philip watched for him, he had missed him last night, having been tantalised through the day with brief glimpses of him, of his thighs against his horse, of the musculature in his arms, of the blue eyes, the chestnut hair.

He stood, allowing his pages to come forward and strap his breastplate on, laughing to himself. When the battle was done he would pursue him once again, celebrate with him and hope the night was never ending.

Amyntor checked his breastplate was strapped firmly to his side, then reached for his dagger, placing it so he could easily reach it before putting on his sword and reaching for his helmet. As he was about to leave the tent, Periphas appeared, looking pale.

"Are you sick?" he asked.

Periphas shook his head. "I feel it though," he reached a shaking hand up to brush back his curly, brown hair. "They say we will have victory, but men must die from either side. What if I am one of them?"

Amyntor laughed. "The chances of that are slim, if you do as I say and stay within the centre of the cavalry, ride at the back as they go forward. They know you have little experience of battle, each man will look out for you."

Licking his lips, Periphas looked appealingly up to him. "Can I ride close to you?"

"When I lead the way?" Amyntor shook his head. "It will all be well," he said.

"What if I die though," Periphas cried, his nerves getting the better of him. "I have never...I have never lain with anyone, and just one kiss, that's all I've had. What if I die and never know?"

Amyntor placed his hand beneath Periphas' chin and lifted up his head, seeing the amazement on the boy's face as he lowered his lips, teasing, inviting, opening.

When he pulled back Periphas shook no more.

"Two kisses now," he said, pulling on his helmet and going to find his horse. He looked back and smiled to see the other pages come for Periphas, urging him on unless they missed the battle.

You could almost sense the Thracians realisation that the battle was lost as they saw the Macedonian army take up position. Yet they had good chiefs who shouted and cajoled, raised a rallying cry, inspiring their men to fight.

"It gets easier," Parmenion said, looking across the lines to where Philip was, waiting for the signal. "Large enough, I suppose, but badly trained, more desperation than discipline.

Amyntor looked across the Thracian lines. They would still have to do battle, no matter what, and as Periphas had pointed out men would still die.

It did not matter to him. Death would reunite him with Tethys, he said a prayer to Aphrodite for their reunion, then a quick prayer to Apollo, to protect his men if he fell.

The cry went up and battle commenced, the Thracians rushing forward, the phalanx moving slowly, commands shouted, drums sounded, horns filled the air.

One of his men commented that they would be lucky to have their horses break a sweat, there was laughter at that, men taking hope that the words would be true.

Amyntor gave the command for them to move forward, for the moment they had to shadow the phalanx, ready to move left, surround the Thracians and ride back through their lines. He gripped his javelin tighter in his hand, knowing it would need to serve him well, he ran his thumb along the cornel wood stave.

Due to their indiscipline, the Thracians came in larger numbers on the left and once they reached the phalanx the extra men caused problems, stopping the phalanx from advancing.

Amyntor called out for his men to hold their positions, commands from the officers in the phalanx were already going out to correct the problem, it was no concern of the cavalry to right it.

That is not what Cleitus thought. Out of nowhere, calling men to follow him, he appeared at a gallop, pushing his horse through the phalanx to lend support, causing more hindrance than help but leaving himself open to attack.

Thinking Cleitus a fool, Amyntor pushed his stallion forward, he had no choice but to go to his aid. He rode up to the left, while ordering Cleitus to pull back, stabbing at the Thracians with his javelin, turning his horse, plunging it forward to gain space, but the phalanx became a problem as the men called up in support arrived , making it difficult to move.

Seeing two members of the cavalry, one nearer than the other, the Thracians rushed forward. Amyntor turned, shouting to Cleitus to get back and as he did he felt as if a hot iron had been embedded in his body. He turned back to see a spear had struck him, underneath the breastplate, angled so it had gone towards his heart. Following the line of the weapon he saw the delight on the Thracian who had struck him, quickly turning the happiness to pain as he brought his javelin round and thrust it through the man's neck.

The spear fell from the man's hands and Amyntor fell with it, unable to keep his grip on his horse. He tried to get to his feet, seeing Thracians rush towards him for the killing blow, but the phalanx came to his defence, stepping over him, pulling him back to safety, though each movement was an agony for him.

He lay back upon the grass, feeling as if he had a weight upon his chest, he could not breathe. Reaching up with his right hand he tried to unfasten his breastplate, as his left hand clutched the bloodied spear, lifting himself up to try to release himself from it. As he did he saw a rider less horse, one he had given to Periphas, more men were moving back, dragging an injured man between them.

It was Periphas, bleeding badly from his thigh, the wound open and raw, not so bad as it could have been, but then he held up his right arm and it had been severed just below the elbow.

Not thinking of himself, Amyntor turned towards him, reaching for him, but his fingers could not stretch that far. "Periphas," he cried, and though speaking caused him pain it was not enough to pull him to oblivion.

Periphas' eyes scanned the blue sky, watching a cloud above, his lips moved, a silent prayer and then his back arched and, with a final breath, life left his body.

Amyntor felt tears of anger burn his eyes. Forcing himself forward he managed to clutch Periphas' chiton, pulling it out from under the breastplate that he wore. Death had come for Periphas, but not for him. He felt cheated by it, each breath was a torment and yet still the darkness did not claim him.

His hand was pulled away, by another, he was turned on to his back, seeing silhouettes of men around him, dark against the bright sky. They lifted him up, ignoring his cries, placed him on a litter and carried him away from battle.

As the Thracians fled the battlefield and men congratulated him, Philip was surprised to see Cleitus waiting for him as he made his way back to camp.

The boy was pale, his eyes red from crying and Philip shook his head, he thought he had more courage and he was disappointed to see the tears.

"I would hate to see you if we lose a battle," Philip joked, placing one hand on Cleitus' shoulder, wiping sweat and blood away from his face with the other.

"I acted rashly," Cleitus said.

Philip shook his head. "It does not matter. Victory is what counts."

"I went to aid the phalanx, and Amyntor..."

Philip reined in his horse. "What?"

"Amyntor saved my life."

Philip gave a sigh of relief, but then a feeling of dread gripped him. "Is he dead? Is that what you're trying to tell me," he snapped.

Cleitus looked towards the surgeon's tents. "He's badly wounded, enough that he might die."

Glaring at Cleitus, wanting to strike the boy but at the same time realising he had made a mistake through his inexperience, Philip strode away, determined, by his presence, to have the surgeon save Amyntor. Men called out, congratulating him, but he was in no mood for celebration, he wondered where Parmenion's man was at the time, he would need to find out, but perhaps it had been his own mistake to have Amyntor come in the first place.

The surgeon told him he had done all that he could, that the spear had pierced the lung and now it was all in the hand of the fates as to whether he lived or died. They had taken him to the hospital tent and Philip was guided to him, waving away the surgeon saying he wished to be alone.

Amyntor lay pale on blood stained sheets, the wound swathed in thick bandages, his eyes were closed, his face covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his left hand brought up alongside his face, his right attempting to claw some invisible weight from off his chest. Each breath seemed hard won, as though he would soon breathe his last, more dead than alive.

Philip stepped closer to the pallet. "Amyntor?"

Slowly, blue eyes opened to gaze on him, a smile formed on the perfect lips.

Kneeling down beside him, Philip grasped Amyntor's right hand, holding it firmly in his own, as if he could give him his own life force that way, he forced a smile, acting as if all were well. "I could have Cleitus whipped for this," he said, feeling his hand held tightly.

"He's young. Remember? We all make mistakes," Amyntor said softly, then looked up as a wave of pain hit him. He struggled through it then turned his eyes back to gaze on Philip, tears fell from them. "Why won't they let me die?"

"The gods must have other plans for you," Philip replied, thinking it cruel that the man before him should have to suffer so much. Death would be a release.

He reached up to run his fingers through Amyntor's hair, talking of the battle, of the victory, that he had ordered the cavalry to chase down any remnants of the Thracian army, saying anything, so afraid that if he stopped talking Amyntor would die. He talked of the past, of his father, his plans for the future, with more battles ahead that one day, he hoped, all of Greece would look to him and acknowledge what he had achieved.

Amyntor clutched his hand and nodded.

Philip became aware of a boy standing behind him and turned to see he was holding a cup, approaching now he had been seen.

"The surgeon said he is to drink this," he said, handing the cup to Philip so he could see the dark green liquid held in it. "It will stop the pain."

"I don't know this surgeon, my own has been called away. How good is he?"

"Oh, he's the best," the boy replied, quickly, "I hope to be like him one day". He looked over at Amyntor. "I thought he might die when they removed the spear, he showed such courage, though darkness did not claim him and it might have been better if it had, he suffered more for it."

Philip nodded, looking upon Amyntor as the boy spoke. He released his hand and then cupped Amyntor's head in it, lifting it so he could drink the contents of the cup.

Amyntor went to protest but drank the liquid unless he choked on it. When he was done, Philip lowered his head down and withdrew his hand.

"It will make him sleep," the boy informed Philip, stepping back and having the good grace to leave them alone.

"Periphas died," Amyntor said. "Take my cloak and place it over him when you put him on the pyre."

"I'll see to it," replied Philip.

"He was trying to save me." Amyntor closed his eyes as the medicine worked its magic. "I could have been kinder than I was..."

Amyntor's breathing slowed, Philip feared it would stop, but on realising only sleep had finally claimed him, he got up on to his feet and made his way out of the tent.

Parmenion was waiting for him, with reports, ever the general his mind was first on his command, only then did he think to enquire after Amyntor. The man he'd sent to watch over Amyntor was too slow to react, too far away to come to his defence, but he had been there to pull him back, to get him to the surgeon.

"Have the surgeon rewarded with gold, tell him there will be more if Amyntor lives...when he is well. The page, Periphas, was killed, he is to be swathed in Amyntor's cloak before being placed upon the pyre."

Parmenion nodded, listening intently to his orders.

Philip looked back to the tent. "Have Amyntor moved from here, take him to his own tent and see he is well cared for."

"The men will want a victory feast," Parmenion said.

Philip considered the request, he had never felt less like celebrating, but he nodded his agreement, then strode off towards his tent, needing to wash off all the blood and to pray to the gods that Amyntor survived.

Three days later they were ready to return to Pella. Scouts had reported that the Thracian army had disbanded, that groups had been sighted heading in different directions, moving away, not waiting for another chance.

Out of the Thracian prisoners, Philip picked ten men, releasing them from a life of slavery to return to their homes carrying the warning that his army would return, in even larger numbers if they thought to make a threat again.

Ready to move, Philip rode along the lines of men, to the carts where the wounded had been lain. Out of all the injured, Amyntor's wound caused the surgeon the most concern, not only because of his high rank but because, by rights, he should have died.

Racked in pain, Amyntor had sunk in to a depression, a dark mood caused by death not claiming him when he prayed it would, each breath was a torment, every movement an agony.

It might have been best to leave him, to wait longer before returning to Pella, but Philip could not take the chance or an army would have had to have been left to guard him.

He rode along the cart holding Amyntor now, watching him bite down upon his lip as the oxen began to walk forward and the cart jolted in to movement. The drugs no longer worked to ease the pain and Amyntor had hardly spoken over the last two days, as if cutting himself off from the world, no longer wanting to be a part of it and angry that he remained in it.

Slow progress was made and where it took three days to reach the border, it now took six to return to the capital, where crowds had gathered to welcome them home.

Philip felt tired, too weary for words, surprised to see Olympias waiting at the palace steps for him, holding Cleopatra while Alexander held on to her gown and peered up shyly at him until Philip knelt down and held his arms out for his son to run in to.

He held his son, kissing the golden curls around his neck and knew now why he fought, so that Alexander need not be ashamed of his inheritance, need not work so hard to conquer.

"I heard that Amyntor was wounded," Olympias said, "I have a room prepared."

Philip nodded in gratitude, though he was sure Olympias' greeting was more to show herself as Queen, her concern for Amyntor a kind act for a dying man. Unable to coax him to eat, possessed by grief and pain, Philip felt sure that Amyntor would die, the fates would eventually be kind, but not before they had tormented a man who did not deserve it.

"They will bring him here shortly," he replied, looking up to gaze in to the slanting, cat-like eyes that had so entranced him. "Thank you," he murmured, holding Alexander closer and kissing his soft cheek.

"Papa," Alexander laughed, gripping on to his father's beard and pulling it.

"Ouch!" said Philip, acting as though the pull on his beard was hurting him.

Alexander laughed, sweet childish laughter, and moved his grasp from beard to Philip's nose.

"Ouch!" Philip yelped, laughing along as his son began to giggle.

He carried him up the steps, swinging him high. "The world will be yours, Alexander," he said, as he span his son around.


	3. Chapter 3

Amyntor was carried to a comfortable, light and airy room, with painted walls and a fine bed in the centre with metal horses decorating the bed head, and fine drapes hanging down.

Servants helped to free him from the sheet that had been wrapped around his body, washing him, oiling his skin, washing his hair and combing it through, before helping him on to the soft mattress and propping him up with pillows.

The surgeon, who had cared for him, came to inspect the wound, pleased that it was healing well and putting it down to his strength and youth that his body had repaired itself so well.

Amyntor bit his lip, knowing what the surgeon was not saying. That despite his wishing for death his body had defied him, that despite all of his prayers the gods had chosen not to answer him, that though his body was healing he would never be the same.

He slept a little, still feeling the movement of the cart, though he felt bathed in softness such was the comfort of his bed.

He awoke to find Philip sitting beside him, watching him.

"I'm glad to have you here, the journey worried me," Philip said.

"Is there some wine?" asked Amyntor, looking around the room.

A servant hurried forward with a cup handing it to his king, who passed it to him. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a long drink of it.

"Just get well," Philip whispered. "You should eat something. What would you like?"

"To sleep," Amyntor replied, handing the empty cup back.

"Do you need more?"

Amyntor shook his head and closed his eyes. He felt Philip take his hand, knowing he was watched as he fell in to the arms of Morpheus.

Children's laughter woke him, tiny footsteps running along the hallway to his room. Amyntor opened his eyes to see Alexander running by the open doorway, then the boy almost straight after, calling after him, not quite able to say his companion's name.

"Al'n'der," he called, coming to a halt outside the doorway, then laughed before turning and running the way he had just come.

Alexander appeared again, hardly able to run for laughter, he vanished from sight, then women's voices were heard, calling to the two of them, the laughter and the voices ceased, as Amyntor guessed the fugitives were being returned to the nursery.

He closed his eyes, about to let sleep take him, once again, when Lanike came in to the room. He gazed upon her, seeing the concern in her eyes. Knowing he had lost weight, that he was still pale and breathless, he knew the sight he must have appeared to her, he could understand the horror on her face.

"They did not wake you?" Lanike asked. "Alexander leads the way, but the two of them together can cause trouble and noise enough."

Amyntor shook his head. "I was awake," he lied.

"And you. How are you?" she enquired, moving closer to sit upon the bed, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face.

"Struggling to free myself from this world," Amyntor replied, with startling honesty, realising he had upset Lanike when it had not been his intention to do so.

"Cleitus blames himself," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "It might have been better had he been punished for his error, for his rashness."

"He's not to blame," Amyntor said, softly.

Lanike looked towards the door, then stood, smoothing out her gown. "Wait here," she said, hurrying from the room.

If it would not have caused him pain, Amyntor would have laughed. He had no strength to lift himself without assistance, could not stand, and yet Lanike was afraid that he would leave.

A servant brought a bowl of fruit and put it on a table by the bed, as if meaning to tempt him, another brought some wine though he refused a cup of it, for now.

Soon, he heard Lanike returning, and his heart fell as he saw that she carried the boy, tears in his eyes at having been parted from Alexander.

"You should have left them to play," Amyntor chided. "Did Hyperenor and Diomede not want him?"

Lanike placed the boy upon the bed. "He's your son, he should know his father. If anything should happen to you, he should have some memory of you." She stepped back.

"No, Lanike, don't leave him here," Amyntor warned, but the nursemaid refused to listen and with a word to the servants she left the room.

Blue eyes studied him, small white teeth bit down upon a pink lip and Amyntor thought the boy looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

"Lanike!" he called, thinking it best to let the boy down from the bed, he could make his own way then. The servants had all disappeared. "Lanike!" he called out again.

The boy reached out and touched the bandage, softly stroking it, as if trying to comprehend the reason for it. He pressed his lips together, taking on the same look as Tethys when she concentrated on something, he had her nose, her lips, despite it all Amyntor smiled to see it.

The boy's hair matched the colour of his own, it was long, falling just below his shoulders, in waves. He wondered why no-one had thought to cut it then remembered that the boy was his own and he wore his hair long.

"Hurt," the boy said, and Amyntor smiled at the intelligence that had found the child the right answer, he was sure that, safe in the confines of the nursery, he would never have seen a wounded man before.

He could be clever now and find his way back to Lanike. He took the boys right arm and forced him over the side of the bed, lowering him down, releasing him as he touched the floor. "Go to Lanike," he said, resting back on the pillows, looking across the room to where there was a painting of Athena defeating Poseidon, in competition.

The goddess won Athens for her trouble. Poseidon had produced a horse but she won with an olive tree, Amyntor pondered what the city would have been called if the sea god had won. Once again he thought of Athens and the new start it might have given him. It was too late now, and he regretted he had not gone.

There was a pull upon the sheets and Amyntor looked to see the boy struggling to climb back upon the bed. He held a comb in his right hand and he wondered where he had found it from.

"Go to Lanike," Amyntor said, in a voice that would have made a troop snap to attention.

The boy made it up on to the mattress, then stood up, wobbling a little as he made his way to his side, falling to his knees and beginning to comb Amyntor's hair.

Dropping the boy off the side of the bed would only yield the same result. Amyntor suffered the attention, thinking of all that he might say to Lanike when she returned. He was tired and just wanted to fall in to oblivion but could not rest while his hair was being pulled.

Abandoning the comb, after only a little while, the boy reached for some grapes upon the bowl, sitting back and pressing his lips together, once again, as he pulled some free from the stalk. He put one in his mouth and grinned at Amyntor, who found himself smiling back.

"Eat one," the boy said, getting to his knees and forcing a grape between Amyntor's lips.

He had no choice but to eat with the boy being so insistent. As soon as he had swallowed, another grape was placed up to his lips, though the boy ate the third before feeding him the fourth.

Amyntor's stomach, long deprived, rumbled as the grapes hit it. The boy laughed at the sound, resting his head upon Amyntor's waist to listen, waiting patiently, then giggling as a low rumble was heard.

Reaching out, Amyntor tentatively stroked the boy's head, brushing a wayward curl gently back behind his ear. "Hephaistion," he said, suddenly wondering what would happen if he should die, if he should leave the boy alone. He lifted the child up in to his arms, gently embracing him. "Do you know me?" he asked, kissing the perfect skin, the child that he and Tethys had created out of love.

"'Tor," Hephaistion replied, wrapping long strands of chestnut hair around his tiny hand.

"I'm your father," Amyntor said, choking on the words as the emotions he had held deep down for so long all found release. "I'm your father, Hephaistion. Your father."

Hephaistion reached to hold him, resting his head upon his shoulder. "Papa," he said, but Amyntor was not sure he understood, he held his son close to him and cried for Tethys, for his denial, for Periphas and for himself. Things would never be the same but he had someone to go on for now.

Philip finally got himself away from the meetings and the work, making his way to the room where Amyntor had been placed.

He was surprised to see Lanike there, leaning on the doorway, arms folded across her chest, tears running down her face, but at the same time she was smiling.

She heard his approach and turned, signalling for him to be quiet.

Looking into the room he saw Amyntor asleep, and lying there, nestled up against him was Hephaistion, sleeping too.

Philip grinned to see it, turning to embrace Lanike in celebration.

"Diomede has visited the nursery every day, somehow she heard that Amyntor might give his son away."

"Olympias," Philip said.

Lanike did not reply but the answer was in her eyes.

"You can speak freely," prompted Philip.

"She said the queen had told her as much, I had to stop her one day from taking Hephaistion home, and I have since found out that Hypernor is a man who has no patience and Diomede would have been happy to take Hephaistion because he is a handsome child and because she thinks that rearing Amyntor's son would bring her some sort of recognition. She did not go to the temple every day, she has a lover..."

Philip put his hand up to stop Lanike's story, he looked back to see Amyntor sleeping peacefully and that was all that mattered.

"You should have a servant bring him chicken broth when he awakes. I'll come back later for Hephaistion." She went to move away. "Tethys would be happy for them now," she said, making her way along the hallway.

Philip stepped in to the room, coming quietly to the bed, noticing crushed grapes upon the sheet, a discarded comb upon the pillow. He leaned down and kissed Amyntor's forehead, then kissed Hephaistion's head.

"You have saved your father," he whispered in the child's ear, "and by that saved yourself".

Straightening up he stepped back a couple of paces, then went to find a servant to make sure the broth was ready.

Amyntor's recovery began the moment he acknowledged Hephaistion as his son.

From that time on he spent as much time with him as he could, with Lanike bringing him to him, at first, then when he was strong enough he was able to bring himself to the nursery, to sit and watch his son at play with Alexander.

His strength returned, in time he was able to lift Hephaistion up and swing him round, with Alexander tugging at his chiton, laughing to see his friend so high.

Yet, Amyntor was not the same, when play was done he had to rest, to catch his breath, he had to take his time and slow down his pace.

When he was eventually able to make his way down, on horseback, to the barracks, his men all came to greet him, welcoming him, but when he tried his hand at swordplay he no longer had the stamina, and although he accepted he probably needed to heal a little more, he knew he could no longer fight, that his days of battle were done.

Philip assured him that he would recover, that his fears would come to nothing, but if he could not fight then he could not see his place in Macedon and so his thought turned to a new life, and as he lay resting upon his bed he gazed on the image of Athena and the thought of Athens came to his mind.

A new life, for himself and for Hephaistion. He had enough gold to buy a house, to sort himself out some way to make a living, to build something. Hephaistion could receive a fine education there, make new friends and learn to serve Athens.

This last thought troubled Amyntor. Macedon was in his heart, he had loved her and fought for her, he resolved that Hephaistion should be told about his heritage, that he would tell him all about it, about its land, its people

"Athens," Amyntor said, thinking that the name sounded good.

He was strong enough now to do the journey. All he had to do was tell Philip.

That evening, Philip held a small banquet for ten of his most trusted men.

Parmenion and Antipater sat on couches either side of him, Amyntor took the couch next to Parmenion, on his orders, the rest he left to their own devices.

Musicians played, hidden from sight, as servants carried in trays of food and hurried to pour the wine in to silver cups.

Philip poured a libation to the gods, happy that everything was how it should be, that he was enjoying peace, if only for a little while.

He lifted his cup to Amyntor, pleased to see him now recovered, the sadness had gone from his eyes, he laughed again now and though he had talked of his inability to fight, Philip felt sure that some role could be found. If Amyntor could not fight , then he could not be wounded, and having come so close to losing him he was determined not to go through the same.

Antipater leaned over to him, telling him a story which a merchant, recently arrived from Thebes had told him, regarding a man he knew in the Sacred Band, how he had brought disgrace upon himself by declaring his love for another and saying that, if his oath could not get broken, his former lover could get no protection from him in any coming battle.

Philip laughed, the man deserved his disgrace, yet it showed some discord and that gave him the most pleasure. One day the Sacred Band would be broken.

When the food was done, people moved among each other and Philip signalled for Amyntor to come to him, to share his couch.

"You'll make people talk," Amyntor said, as he took his place beside him.

"Let them. They know that we were lovers, what does it matter if we pick up where we left off?" Philip placed his hand on Amyntor's thigh. "How is your son?"

Amyntor smiled. "I let him ride upon my horse today. I think he was born for the cavalry."

"He and Alexander," Philip said, "I think it good that our sons shall grow in friendship, just like we did."

Biting his lip, Amyntor studied Philip. "I am thinking about going to Athens."

Philip laughed and took another large drink of wine, holding his cup out to a servant to refill. He looked to Amyntor and saw that he was not joking. "Athens?" he asked.

Amyntor nodded. "A new beginning for us both."

"Tell me you are joking," Philip said, sitting up, casting aside his wine cup.

"I can not fight for you anymore, Philip. What more is there for me here? I thought about it before and now I think it is the best choice for me and for my son."

"You'll be nothing but a metic," replied Philip, not seeing the reasoning behind Amyntor's decision.

"Which I'll accept. I can find a sponsor first, then find a way to live."

"No!" Philip got to his feet, glaring down at Amyntor.

Silence filled the room, all eyes looking to the king and his companion, watching as Amyntor got to his feet. "I'll leave in the next couple of weeks," he said.

"I forbid it," Philip snapped, unable to control his temper, wanting Amyntor held under guard if he would not change his mind.

"Philip. Let me go," Amyntor said softly.

Becoming aware of the audience they had, Philip looked around ordering everyone from the room, except for Amyntor. The music stopped, the servants left as well, closing the door behind them.

Philip shook his head. "I can't believe you have come up with this ludicrous idea," he said.

"Once I have found my way, I should like to come back here with Hephaistion..."

"Then there is no point in leaving," Philip replied, walking away thinking he could easily win this argument. "Tell me what you want to do and I shall see it done."

"I need to get away from Macedon," Amyntor said.

"But Hephaistion is happy here," argued Philip. "Would you take him away from what he knows?"

"He'll make new friends."

"He's friends with a prince!" Philip breathed deeply, trying to control his anger, realising just why he was so angry, so upset. "What about us?"

"You'll find another,"

Philip stormed back to Amyntor, grasping the chestnut hair in one hand, pulling it tightly, wanting to hurt, wanting to make the man see sense. His fury did not know how to release itself, he wanted to strike out but instead he brought his lips down, hard on Amyntor's, his other hand coming up to hold Amyntor close.

"I won't let you go," he vowed, breaking the kiss to look in to Amyntor's tear-filled eyes. "All we had, what we could have, I won't lose it."

"Those days are done, Philip. I need a new start, if I can't fight then I am useless to you."

"No. Take it back, take back your words."

He pulled at Amyntor's clothing, ripping at it, pulling him down, wrestling him to the floor, pressing his body against him.

"Don't do this," Amyntor said, not fighting back but not wanting his touch either.

Philip could not stop himself, he pulled Amyntor to his side, then lay behind him, reaching for some oil, ripping at his clothing, lifting it, kissing and biting at his back. He poured the oil and entered in one swift motion, his hands coming round Amyntor, touching him, embracing him, reaching for him.

He thrust hard, in desperation, but finally, realising that Amyntor was taking no pleasure from the act, he withdrew, moved back and stood up before sitting down on a couch.

He watched as Amyntor lifted himself up, getting to his feet.

"Is this the way I should serve my king?" he asked, examining the remnants of his clothing.

Philip looked away then looked back. "I am sorry for it. You made me angry." He looked down, his hands were shaking. "Please, say that you won't go."

"And if I refuse? Will you have the guard stop me?" Amyntor asked.

Philip looked up, he knew that he was being unreasonable but he could not help himself. "I will stop you," he said.

Amyntor nodded, in acceptance, biting his lip. "Then, I guess that I am yours," he whispered.

Philip looked up, not quite believing what his ears had told him. "Mine?" he asked, unable to say more as Amyntor claimed his lips, pushing him back on to the couch.

Stunned. Philip caressed the body of the man that he desired, his concerns lifting as Amyntor moved against him. Just a notion, it had all been just a notion. He laughed as Amyntor kissed his neck, his chest, then licked and teased his nipple.

"I did not mean to hurt..." Philip began, but was silenced by a kiss.

Amyntor's hair brushed along his face, his hands reached for him, held him, teased him, then Amyntor straddled him and lowered himself down upon his engorged penis, as he had done once before, so long ago.

Drawn in by the sensations, feeling Amyntor move above him it did not take Philip long before he lost control, clinging to his bedmate, lost in the sensation.

He laughed, it had all been a stupid argument but if it led to such pleasure then he would argue every night. He clung to Amyntor, running his fingers through his hair, reliving the moments. Amyntor was breathing fast from his exertions.

"We could go hunting in the morning," Philip suggested. "Head to Aegae, stay in a lodge for a couple of days." He laughed. "We needn't leave the room."

Amyntor lifted himself up. "I'd like that," he replied, getting to his feet.

Philip got up, fastening his chiton before reaching out to examine the torn garment that Amyntor wore. "It's really not that bad," he laughed.

As they left the room, Amyntor took his hand, just briefly. A loving touch. "Health to you, Philip," he said, as they parted company.

"Health to you, Amyntor," Philip replied, watching him go. He loved the man and tomorrow he would prove it, let him know, make him believe it.

Amyntor got back to his room and stripped off the ruined chiton, washing himself in the bowl of water that one of the servants had left for him.

He lay upon the bed but did not sleep. Time passed before he heard the guard change and he got back up from his bed and went over to a wooden chest which held all of his belongings.

Pulling out a leather bag, he filled it with what he would need, then reached down to bring out a bag of gold. All that he had but it had to be enough. Finally, he brought out a small bag which held Tethys' belongings, wrapped in a shawl she often wore, and placed this in to the leather bag before strapping it shut.

For a moment, he stayed still, thinking through what he was about to do. Philip would never let him go, that much was true, but he wanted so much more than Philip could ever offer. He loved the man, it had hurt him to deceive him, to make him think that everything would be alright, but if he had not then Philip would have had him watched. He had to go now.

Dressing himself, he pulled on his cavalry boots, pushed his dagger in his belt and put on his sword, before fixing his blue chlamys in place, letting his hand brush lightly against the Macedonian Star which decorated the brooch that held it in place.

Opening his door, he made his way along the hallway, careful to avoid being seen. At the nursery he had no choice, but the guard knew him and he easily accepted a tale that he was going to see his sister and needed to set out early to make the most of his time with her.

Marvelling at how readily the guard had accepted the lie, Amyntor gently opened the door to the nursery, making his way to the room where Alexander and Hephaistion slept, thanking the gods it was away from where Lanike slept with Cleopatra.

There he found Alexander and Hephaistion, sharing the same bed, Alexander's arms wrapped fondly around his friend.

Amyntor wondered if this was a regular occurrence, that they should seek comfort from each other. He crouched down and gently lifted Alexander's arm, placing it to one side so that he could lift Hephaistion up in to his arms.

His son stretched and blue eyes opened. "Papa?" he murmured.

"We have a journey to go on," Amyntor whispered.

Hephaistion leaned down to his sleeping companion, his hands held out trying to grasp his friend. "Al'n'der," he called, but Amyntor moved quickly, taking him from the room.

"Al'n'der," Hephaistion repeated, wiping at his eyes and yawning.

"Later," Amyntor soothed. Hephaistion knew the meaning, Lanike would use it every time Alexander was taken to his mother. His son nodded, then wrapped his arms around him, resting his head upon his shoulder.

"Good luck to you with the child," the guard whispered as he passed by.

Amyntor thanked him, then made his way down to the stables.

He let Hephaistion lie back in the straw as he fetched his stallion's bridle. His hands were shaking as he thought about all that he would leave behind. Everything and everyone he knew.

Finally, with the task complete he looked over to the far end of the stables, seeing himself and Philip tentatively taking their first kiss, remembering the sensation of Philip moving between his thighs, promising his devotion.

He had to go, there was no future for him here at Pella. Perhaps, if Philip had loved him...

He gave a rueful smile, going to Hephaistion and lifting him up, waking him before hoisting him up on to the stallion's back.

"Where?" Hephaistion asked.

"Athens," Amyntor replied.

"At'ens with Al'n'der?" came another question.

"You'll see Alexander later," Amyntor replied, leaping up to sit behind his son, adjusting the bag so it sat firmly against his back.

He pushed the stallion forward heading for the nearest gate. The guards there believed his story, though one announced that he never knew he had a sister.

He passed through the gate at a walk, then pushed the stallion to a slow canter, then a gallop. If he were lucky he would be on board a ship before Philip knew that he had gone.

A new life lay ahead of them, for father and for son, but he could not resist reining in and looking back towards Pella, towards the palace, where Philip would lie sleeping and he bit his lip and turned away as he realised he would never see his face again.

THE END


End file.
